


Like Stones

by jason_todds



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:18:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jason_todds/pseuds/jason_todds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock always dreams of john<br/>what he doesn't realize, is that sometimes they aren't dreams</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Stones

**Author's Note:**

> so much to do so little time i'm lame and and yeah  
> enjoy i guess

_He couldn't stop thinking_

 

It was just. Just thoughts whirling through and around his head. Flashes of images, snippets of words. 

 

He curled in on himself and clutched at his head, he could hear fevered muttering and it took him far too long to realize it was him speaking. 

 

He didn’t know how long he sat there. 

 

And then. A door. Opening. Footsteps thundering. A hand, gentle despite it’s rough-worn callouses. 

 

Curls damp with sweat being swept back off his forehead. Fingers carding through his hair.

 

A voice. 

 

John. 

 

.

.

.

 

He was pulled back into himself suddenly and without warning. 

 

He became aware of a hand rubbing gentle circles into his back and lips against his temple. 

 

He was being _held._

 

He could not remember the last time he had been held. Especially with such care, with such gentleness. With such blatant _affection._  

 

There was only one person it could be. 

 

“John” 

 

His voice was rough and weary. 

 

A deep ache situated itself inside his chest. He wondered at it. 

 

“Sherlock” said John. A mumble against his damp skin. Relief evident despite the quiet nature of the word. 

 

A sigh and arms unwinding from his torso. 

 

Disappointment.

 

John shifting him around and looking at him face to face. 

 

Speaking words that Sherlock did not hear. 

 

John saying his name. Eyes blue and dark in a worn face. 

 

A softening of the lines that made him up. 

 

Arms winding back around him and a sigh that fluttered through limp strands of hair.

 

A kiss at his temple. 

 

And a whisper of words Sherlock would not remember. 

 

Words that caught and ached in his chest for want of them. 

 

His eyes slipped closed. 

 

The words sank and settled like stones in deep water.

 

Three

 

Two

 

One

 

_Sleep._

 


End file.
